


Candy

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (yeahIknowit'susuallyHarry), 8th year, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Implied Switching, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, One Shot, somuchblushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: It was only after careful consideration that Draco came to the wildly preposterous conclusion that he and Potter were actually friends.Sweet fic.  May cause cavities.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at some fluffy cuteness with very little angst. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

_**It was only after careful consideration that Draco came to the wildly preposterous conclusion that he and Potter were actually friends.** _

*

Draco sat in the library, working on his simmering resentment toward Professor Vector, which was much easier than working on his Arithmancy assignment. He stared down at the instructions: to reduce forty bloody names into a number and attempt to calculate which was most likely to die in an act of heroics given a set of specific criteria -- which he also had to figure out. His eyes landed on the second name from the bottom of the list and he snorted. Harry Potter.

Well, he could just put that as his answer, he supposed. He had no doubt it was the correct one. Unfortunately, Vector was probably expecting to see his work detailed.

Draco began reducing names on the list, stewing over this development. It seemed nearly every class this year managed to insert Potter into the curriculum. In Defense, he’d been given a list of Potter’s “most useful defensive spells” to duplicate; in Charms, he’d been assigned to glamour his partner’s features to have black hair and green eyes.

He felt someone sit down beside him and looked up in irritation.

“Well, shit.”

“Hey, Malfoy.” Potter flopped his bookbag onto the desk, shoving Draco’s parchment aside. He dug out a ball-shaped candy and unwrapped it furtively as Draco stared at him, then popped it into his mouth.

“What on earth are you doing here, Potter?” Draco’s lip curled at the smacking noises coming from him.

Potter smiled, wide and guileless. “Studying. Want one?” He held out another candy.

“Because I’m just that stupid,” Draco sneered, drawing away. The candy wrapper sparkled pink and he could smell the scent of chocolate.

Potter looked offended. “It’s just candy, really.”

“No. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Politeness wasn't really his default -- or inclination -- but if he’d thought Potter had received preferential treatment before the War, it was nothing compared to how people treated him now. 

Even at that very moment, almost every student lower than sixth year was staring at the two of them. Draco shifted uncomfortably.

“What’re you working on?”

“Well, I’m _not_ , since you won’t shut up,” Draco said. Potter’s mouth did a funny pouting thing and Draco sighed, relenting a bit. There was no point in antagonizing him anymore. Even if it would be fun. “Arithmancy.”

“Oh. I’m no help to you, then,” Potter said cheerfully, lowering his voice when he was promptly shushed by Madam Pince. “Not my subject.”

“Then why do they keep putting you in the homework?” Draco asked bitterly.

“They did? Again?” He leaned over Draco’s arm to take a look at the instructions, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of his name. The scent of apples wafted from the ungodly mess of his hair. “Jesus. I’ve asked them to stop. I don’t know why they keep doing that.”

“You don’t know why they keep doing that,” Draco repeated flatly. “If that’s true, you’re a worse case than I thought.”

Intrigued, he watched a faint stain of pink colour Potter’s cheeks. “I just mean, I don’t understand why they would include me in it when I’ve asked them not to.”

“I suspect it’s supposed to be an honour, not that it leaves the rest of us with much respect for the school. They might as well just name the place the Harry Potter School of Witchcraft and Dumb Luck and be done with it. Now can you either shut up or leave? I have to work on this.” Draco bent over his scroll, tugging some of his parchment out from under Potter’s bag.

“Sorry. I just thought…” Potter unwrapped another candy and sighed. “Look, is it okay if I sit here? Most of the other tables are full.”

Draco glanced up. That wasn’t remotely true.

“No, they’re not.”

“Full of people I don’t want to sit with,” Potter said, then caught himself on what was clearly too nasty a thought to live in such a Gryffindorian brain. “I mean, they like to ask questions and talk to me, and ask for autographs, and I never get any work done.”

“Can’t imagine what that’s like,” Draco grumbled. He looked at the tables again. Potter was clearly so fascinating that no one could look away from him. Maybe they were trying to figure out why he wore his hair that way. “Fine, you can stay here,” he said ungraciously. “But shut it.”

Potter mimed zipping his lips.

He was a horrible study partner, as it turned out. Constantly in motion, twitchy, and easily distracted by every little thing. He did a dumb, concentrating thing with his face whenever he was confused, too, gnawing on his lower lip and squinting his eyes, which were fringed with ridiculously thick, sooty lashes. It was so disturbing that Draco ended up offering to help just so he would stop _looking_ that way. To his surprise, Potter waved off the offer with a smile and continued working on his own.

After two hours, Draco had about a third of his homework done and felt strangely hot under the collar from Potter’s endless fidgeting. He gathered up his things and stood. “Good working with you, Potter.”

Potter stood up too, artlessly stuffing his things back into his bag. “Where are you going?”

Draco blinked. “Um.”

“Feel like heading out to Hogsmeade?”

“Hell, Potter, are you actually trying to _hang out_ with me?” Draco asked in shock.

Potter did that pouty thing again with his mouth. “I’m just trying to be friendly. You should learn what that means. Besides, I’m bored.”

“How flattering,” Draco said wryly. “What about your friends?”

That pink flush bled over his face again. “They’re uh, studying together.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Well, I bet their work has been more productive than mine has been. Do you ever stop moving?”

Potter shifted, a bit sheepishly this time. Draco hadn’t known that movements in and of themselves could be sheepish, but if anyone could manage to accomplish making them so, it was Potter. “I, er, had a bit too much candy today,” he admitted. “Sure you don’t want one?”

He pulled another out of his bag. Draco stared down at it. Slowly, he reached out and took the thing as if it might explode in his hand. He tucked it into the pocket of his trousers.

“See? I can be friendly, too,” he said.

Potter laughed. He actually _laughed_ , at something Draco said, something that was barely a joke. Draco’s lips twitched and they began walking out together. “

So what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Probably finishing my assignment,” Draco admitted as Potter fell in to step beside him. He’d gotten even taller over the summer; Draco would wager they were within an inch of each other, now. (Not that he’d ever given much thought to Potter’s height, of course.) “It’s not like I’m going to be able to finish it tonight.”

“Oh, so you’re not free?”

Draco stopped walking. “Potter, what is this?”

Merlin, did he never stop blushing? How had Draco never noticed that before? (Not that he looked at Potter all that often, of course.)

“I just thought… You seemed lonely, and I thought we could try, you know, being friends. I mean, you didn’t give me up or kill me when you had the chance, I spoke at your trials… I was thinking…”

“Clearly, you weren’t,” Draco said coldly. There was nothing about what Potter said that wasn’t horribly offensive and, worst of all, true. He drew back. “I sent you a thank you letter at the beginning of the summer because it was polite and the right thing to do, not as an entreaty for your pity. And I'm not lonely,” he added. “I'm occupied. Just because not everyone is angling to be a member of your fan club…”

Potter rubbed his face, skewing his glasses. He didn’t even bother fixing them. “Shit, I’m sorry. All of that came out wrong. I like that you’re not a part of my… er… fan club. And this year is… different than I thought it’d be, with Ron and Hermione…”

“Snogging each other senseless and ignoring your ickle self?” Draco said.

Potter nodded. “It’s not like we don’t see each other, but they’re busy, and… I’m sorry. I thought maybe we could start over.”

He held out his hand and Draco eyed it with blank shock. Had it really been seven years ago that he’d offered his own hand to Potter only to be rejected? He sniffed, looking at Potter's open palm, his long fingers extended.  “We can study together,” he decided.

Potter dropped his hand with a rueful look. “That sounds all right. Thanks, Malfoy.”

Draco walked away, the candy burning a hole in his pocket. Undoubtedly because it was filled with poison.

*

They began to meet — sans candy — three or four times a week in the library. When Potter wasn’t hyped up on sugar, he was fairly settled in his mode of study. Occasionally asked Draco a question about Potions and even offered his help on Draco’s Defense assignments — not that Draco would consider taking him up on it. He’d probably give bad information that would earn him a Troll.

But it wasn’t so bad, Draco had to admit, albeit grudgingly. As the only returning Slytherin in his year, he _had_ been feeling a little solitary. Plus, studying with Potter had the added advantage of decreasing the frequency of Stinging hexes sent to his back in the halls, as well, so there was that.

It was three weeks in to their carefully balanced dynamic that Potter began to grow agitated in his seat again. He bounced his knee, the side of it brushing against Draco’s (which was entirely unacceptable) and fiddled with his quill until finally Draco had no choice but to glare at him. “What!”

Potter’s gaze was on the windows: the sky was a bright blue. “Want to go outside?”

“I come here to get work done, Potter,” Draco snapped. His eyes followed Potter’s again. It did look fairly clear out.

“Why can’t we do that outside? It’s been raining for over a week.”

Draco sighed. “You’re not going to let me study unless I give in, are you?”

Potter grinned, unabashed. “It’s almost like you know me.”

“More than I want to, but you won’t leave me alone,” Draco said under his breath. He began gathering his things.

“Admit it, Malfoy, you like me,” Potter said, green eyes alight as they made their way to the courtyard.

“I will admit to no such thing,” Draco said disdainfully. “Only that I'm under probation and will be sent straight to Azkaban if I happen to raise my wand in your direction.” 

Potter went quiet at that and Draco risked a sidelong glance at him. His brow was furrowed and he looked equal parts determined and hurt. They reached a copse of trees and Draco cast a drying charm to the damp earth, then transfigured his cloak into a blanket to sit down on. Potter dropped onto it more than sat, his knees sort of buckling under him as he flopped down.

Draco did what normal humans do: lowered himself down carefully, with a care for his clothes and his backside.

“Is that really why you’re letting me study with you?” Potter asked.

“Completely,” Draco assured him. “That, and the professors have been more lenient on me since you started sitting at my table. And you deliberately annoy Pince, which I find amusing.” _And you smell like apples, which is strangely addictive_ , went unsaid.

“Well, at least I’m good for something,” Potter said with no small amount of irony. But a flicker of a smile curled his lips. “And I do not deliberately annoy Pince.”

“Oh, please. As if you’re not the one banging around under that Invisibility Cloak of yours to rearrange the books at her desk when she’s turned away.”

Potter’s opened his mouth to object but the feigned outrage on his face slid into a full-fledged smile instead. “You knew that was me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t know anyone else with an Invisibility Cloak, you idiot. And it always happens right after she’s taken you to task for noise or disorganization. Then you wander off ‘to the loo.’”

Potter snorted. “She likes to make an example of me.”

This was true, Draco had to admit. There were often more disruptive students that simply got a glare and a “shhh!” from her, whereas Potter usually got dressed down.

“You are the example to follow,” Draco pointed out. “To hear anyone tell it. Like it or not.” He stopped, struck by the thought as it occurred to him that Potter actually didn’t seem to like it at all. “You should try to make less noise under that Cloak,” he said at last. “One would think you were raised in a barn.”

“Just a cupboard,” Potter said, rather cheerfully for such an admission. “And I learned to be very quiet in it, thanks very much.”

Draco stared at him. There were rumours, of course, about Potter’s upbringing. He remembered with sudden clarity the yellowing bracelet of bruises around Potter’s wrist as a skinny eleven-year-old when they’d first met, and how none of his clothes had fit properly. But for him to confess something so potentially explosive to Draco as though it were nothing…

“Why did you tell me that?”

Potter shrugged uneasily and began hunting through his bag. He continued for well into a full minute, although he didn’t pull anything out. The telltale flush was there on his cheeks again. At length, he looked up at Draco, directly for all of his avoidance, and smiled crookedly. “We’re sort of mates, now, right?”

Draco thought about it. Their relationship was unlike any friendship he’d ever had. Crabbe and Goyle had followed his orders; Pansy was the one who cooed over him and made him feel good; Blaise was enjoyable because he never talked about or took anything seriously. But Draco supposed, in Potter’s skewed view, that people who spent time together and confided in each other could be considered friends. And Potter didn’t seem nearly so offended by Draco’s sense of humor these days, nor did he constantly (or ever) bring up that whole saving-of-his-life thing.

Slowly, Draco nodded.

Potter smiled, relieved. “Well, that’s what I thought.” He held out his hand. “Candy?”

Draco took it.

It was delicious.

*

_**It was only after careful consideration that Draco came to the incredibly shocking conclusion that he and Potter were actually dating.** _

*

After returning from the Manor for the holidays, it seemed that Potter had acquired a Sticking Charm to Draco’s side.

It didn’t bother him, really. Loathe as he was to admit it, he’d actually missed Potter over the break. Besides which, Potter had gifted him an outrageously expensive tie in silver and green, so at least Draco’s taste was rubbing off on him a bit. In return, Draco had given Potter a self-starting Potions Kit, which heated the cauldron to the correct temperature that the base ingredient required. If Potter as smart as Draco was beginning to suspect, it might even help him improve his grades.

The hug was awkward, when he and Potter ran into each other when school began again. He’d never been a hugger, but he’d noticed that Potter seemed to do that a lot with his friends, so he allowed it. If he smelled Potter’s hair for a moment, well, no one would know about that.

“You’re wearing your tie!” Potter said, entirely too delighted when he pulled away.

“Well, it brings out my eyes,” Draco muttered. He slanted Potter a glance. “Thank you.”

Potter was studying him intently in a way that made heat rise in Draco’s cheeks. “You’re welcome. It does, you know. Bring out your eyes, I mean. I thought it might. That’s why I bought it.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Thanks for the Potions Kit. I didn’t know they made them like that.”

“They make everything like that,” Draco said. “If you bother looking.”

“I’m not much for shopping.” Potter looked at Draco’s tie again and back up to his face. He was close enough that Draco could make out the hazel flecks in his famous green gaze. “For myself. Maybe you could show me stuff.”

The phrase _show me stuff_ lingered troublingly in Draco’s brain.

“I could,” Draco said cautiously. “Sometime.”

“Good!” Potter tilted his head expectantly. “Where’re we headed?”

“ _I_ am headed to my room to unpack my things,” Draco said.

Potter looked a bit like a kicked Kneazle. “Can I come? Ron and Hermione are busy.”

Draco eyed him, suspicious. It seemed like Potter could turn that sad expression on and off at whim. “Are they?”

Potter grinned. “No. But I wanted you to look over my Potions essay; I worked on it over hols.”

Draco fought back a smile. “I cast my first Patronus,” he admitted as they headed for the dungeons.

“Yeah?” Why on earth Potter was so enthusiastic about his progress, Draco couldn’t even fathom. “That’s great, Malfoy! What is it?”

“A hawk.” He felt a twinge at lying, but his Patronus really was a bird, so.

Potter looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

Draco huffed. “A swan. And beautiful.”

Potter laughed. They reached the Slytherin dorms and he scrambled in after Draco. A sudden silence fell over the common room as everyone began to notice his presence and Potter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, smiling uncomfortably.

“My room is this way,” Draco said.

He led Potter down the corridor, deeper into the bowels of Slytherin, barely daring to believe that he would follow. But when Draco arrived at his room, Potter was still there, looking around curiously and slipping off his coat — a stupid, zippy thing with a hood — like he intended to stay awhile. He plunked himself on Draco's bed without invitation.

“At least take off your shoes,” Draco said, absently opening his trunk for something to focus on. He flicked his wand and watched his items fly to their assigned places.

Potter kicked off his trainers and let them tumble to the floor. He pulled out a handful of candies from his pocket — blue wrapped, this time — and popped one in his mouth, extending another in Draco's direction. Draco shook his head and sat in the chair at his desk. The image of Potter on his bed made his insides twist. He looked down at his hands.

“Are you sure?" Potter asked. "They’re good. They make your breath smell sweet. Not that yours is bad,” he added. “It’s actually very good.”

Draco jerked his head up. He swallowed. “Your essay?”

“Oh.” Potter rifled through his bag and pulled it out, handing it over. “You know, I get the swan thing.”

“Shut it,” Draco said, scanning the scroll quickly. It was surprisingly well written, thorough and involved.

“No, I mean, they’re pretty, you know? All of those white feathers. Sort of stately. Elegant. You’re… elegant…” Potter said, trailing off awkwardly.

Draco blinked, eyes fastened to the parchment so intently he could barely see it. Potter was complimenting his looks? Potter thought him _pretty_?

He coughed and glanced up to find Potter studiously ignoring him, seemingly fascinated with the pattern of threading on Draco’s bedcovers. “Of course, I’m elegant. Patrician breeding. I’m just shocked you can acknowledge it.”

“Oh, I have,” Potter said.

“This is very well done,” Draco said, not knowing how to interpret the new, low quality of Potter's voice. He passed the parchment back over. “Slug might work a little better than leech, but they’re both effective.”

Potter smiled, almost shyly, and tucked his work away. “Thanks.”

They both fell silent for so long that the lack of sound grew heavy as they looked at each other. Draco could feel his pulse throb in his temples and wrists. Even in other places.

“Well, thanks for checking that for me." Potter scooted off the bed and shoved his feet into his shoes. He pointed his wand at them so they tied themselves. “I’d better get going.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed quickly. “I have a lot to do.”

Potter lingered by the door for a moment, looking back. “Your hair looks…”

Draco touched it, paranoid. “What? What’s wrong with my hair?”

But Potter just smiled crookedly and shook his head before disappearing out the door. Draco conjured a mirror to check. Every fine strand was in place and he stared at his closed door in consternation, wondering what Potter had been about to say.

It was only when he went to bed later that he noticed a handful of candy on his bedside stand. Each one looked like a brightly wrapped present.

*

It wasn’t until the second week of February that Draco gave in to Potter’s constant entreaties to visit Hogsmeade. He was all too aware of how close the proprietors of the shops could be and didn’t want to risk running into someone who was still angry at him, although he’d sent everyone in the village a letter of apology as well.

But he was practical enough to concede that having Potter with him would make the whole trip less dangerous and probably even more enjoyable.  He seemed to have a talent for finding things to do that Draco liked.

At Potter's suggestion, they’d gotten into the habit of playing Seeker games in the biting cold air a few times a week and one Friday night, Potter had surprised him by taking him to a rare bookshop in Muggle London that turned out to be a goldmine of magical historical references. As eighth years, they didn't need permission to leave school on the weekends, and Potter had even taken him out to lunch in Diagon Alley’s most exclusive restaurants on more than one occasion.

Because it was fair, Draco had taken Potter shopping while they were there and now didn’t have to worry so much about being seen with someone who had Potter’s godawful fashion sense.

They crunched through the snow together on the way to Hogsmeade, Potter grabbing onto Draco's arm to steady himself. Draco looked down at Potter's gloved hand clutching his elbow with narrowed eyes. That was another thing: he knew Potter was physically demonstrative when he got to know them well, but he’d gotten very free with his touches over the last several weeks.

It was always something: Potter holding Draco's hand too long during a handshake after flying, or rubbing his thumb over a smudge of dirt he claimed was on Draco’s cheek. Several times, he'd placed a light palm on the small of Draco's back while telling him to “hurry the hell up,” and once Potter had pulled a leaf from his hair and—Draco was willing to swear—rubbed the strands between his fingers before letting go. Then there was the time Potter had insisted on giving him a shoulder rub when Draco'd mentioned sleeping wrong.

This time, Potter didn’t bother removing his hand from Draco once he'd steadied; rather, he kept it clamped where it was the whole walk as he gently steered them toward Madam Puddifoot’s. When they got in, Draco disengaged his arm and followed Potter to a table that had a small _Reserved_ sign on it.

“What are we doing here, Potter?”

Potter looked nervous. He shrugged. “Haven’t you ever been here before? Sit.”

Draco sat. “It’s very… pink,” he said, trying to be polite. “And crowded.” He looked around. Everything was trimmed in lace and a great many of the patrons were snogging or otherwise engaged in a contest of who could bat their eyes the most in the smallest amount of time.

“The chocolate is good,” Potter mumbled, staring at his menu. “They have popping candies that you can put into it and they charm the whipped cream in funny shapes.”

Draco nodded warily, still trying to pinpoint why this felt so strange when the server came over. Potter ordered them a couple of hot chocolates (complete with popping candy).

“Do _you_ come here a lot?” Draco asked, bewildered. It didn’t really seem the sort of place Potter would frequent.

Potter fiddled with his napkin. “Well, no. I’ve only ever been here once before. But I thought it’d be nice for today. And it's so cold outside.”

“We can go to the Three Broomsticks, get some butterbeer,” Draco offered against his better judgement.

“You’re uncomfortable there,” Potter pointed out.

“I’ve never said that,” Draco said, a little too loudly. They drew irritated looks from the table nearest to them.

“No, but I can tell,” Potter said, gaze soft and uncomfortably perceptive. Draco flushed, relieved when the waitress approached again and carefully set down their cups. She placed the order of candy in the middle of the table.

“Here you go,” she said genially. “Special order.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Hot chocolate is a special order?”

The colour of Potter’s cheeks deepened. “The candy. They only make it once a year.”

Draco looked at the little crystal dish between them. The candies were white and shimmery. He curiously took one and dropped it into his steaming cup. Potter leaned forward to watch as Draco’s chocolate began to fizz and the candy melted into fluffy spots of whipped cream, all in the shape of tiny hearts.

“Hm.” Draco took a sip. “Not bad. You do one.”

Obligingly, Potter grabbed a candy and dropped it in his cup. Draco looked into it as it fizzed, the candy melting into the shape of a swan. He shot Potter a startled glance.

Potter sipped his drink and blinked innocently at Draco over the rim of his cup.

Draco wiped his upper lip free of whipped cream and -- feeling oddly suspicious this time -- picked up another candy. He dropped it in and watched with astonishment as it formed the words, _Be Mine_.

Draco's heart began to pound. He looked around again. Pink. Lace. Couples. There were even golden bloody cherubs throwing confetti at people. He thought quickly, incredulity making his voice rise. “Is today _Valentine’s_ Day?”

Potter blushed again and nodded.

“And is this supposed to be a… a…” Words failed him as Draco's hand flopped strangely between them. It pointed at Potter and then himself over and over as if it had a mind of its own.

“I, er, I mean, I know it’s awfully couple-y” Potter stammered. “And we haven’t really talked about things yet, but I thought it would be nice—”

“ _Talked about things_?” Draco squeaked. “Talked about _what_?”

“You know, er, being exclusive or anything. I mean, I am. But no pressure or anything if you’re not ready,” Potter said, swallowing hard. “Um, to be a couple.”

Draco bolted.

The cold air outside hit his burning face like a balm, stinging and reviving him all at once. He sucked in an icy lungful of air, then another for good measure, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

He heard the tinkle of bells behind him and then Potter was standing there, hand rubbing small circles against Draco's lower back. “What happened? Are you okay? Was it the hot chocolate?” He paused. “Was it what I said?”

Draco stared at him, stricken. “Are you trying to tell me that you think we’ve been _dating_?”

Potter looked surprised. “Uh. Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t realise that?”

“When, exactly, have you given me any indication that you were interested in dating me? And where did you get the idea that I was gay? And how on earth would I know that you were?” Draco said, each word getting successively louder as they spilled from his mouth until he was shouting.

Potter’s eyebrows disappeared behind his messy fringe. He caught Draco’s arm and dragged him to a less crowded area. “Are you saying that you think I give all of my friends shoulder massages while they moan at me and drive me crazy?”

“I wasn’t moaning,” Draco said, wide-eyed, for want of anything better to object to.

“You were,” Potter said flatly. “What about how we hug all the time?”

“You hug me,” Draco said, feeling a bit steadier. “I allow it.”

“Maybe at first. But you hug me all the time now and it's not always your wand in your pocket I feel," Potter said, beginning to sound angry.  

Draco heard himself make a noise in the back of his throat. He hadn't realized Potter could feel--

“And you’re always smelling my hair and looking at my mouth and, and we go on dates every bloody weekend—Jesus, Draco!” Potter scraped an agitated hand through his hair.

Draco stilled at Potter’s use of his given name. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I didn’t—” Draco said, voice faint.

“It’s fine,” Potter said stiffly. “I guess I got it wrong. I should have just tried kissed you when this started so you could’ve gotten rejecting me out of the way.”

He started to walk away, shoulders hunched, and Draco heard himself calling out, “Wait!”

Potter stopped. He turned, eyeing him cautiously as Draco closed the distance between them. “What?”

“I just never thought-- It never occurred to me that you'd-- I just didn’t _know,_ Potter,” Draco said, voice embarrassingly shaky. “Not the way you did. We’re… friends, right?”

Potter sighed. “Yeah.” He smiled crookedly over the disappointment on his face. “I guess we are. I'm sorry. I should have…”

“Done a lot of things,” Draco said. “Let me know you thought we were going out, for one. Ask me my sexual preferences, for another. And you could told me you-- you _thought_ of me that way," he muttered, still unable to fully wrap his mind around it, "instead of just assuming I was a bloody Legilimens.”

Potter tilted his head, gaze softening. “I thought we were dating. I think of you that way. What are your sexual preferences?”

“I like both, I think,” Draco said firmly and kissed him.

Potter’s mouth was chapped and cold against Draco’s until he opened it and then it was hot and slick and tasted of chocolate. Potter’s hands came up to cradle Draco’s frozen cheeks and he slanted his mouth under his, slipping his tongue deeper inside. Draco made a noise as Potter tugged him closer, one hand releasing his face to thread through his hair.

Draco clutched at him, arms winding around Potter’s waist, hands settling tightly against the middle of his back. Potter’s cloak was thick and Draco wanted it off so he could press himself against Potter, could feel the length of him, all of the hard lines and lean muscle that he hadn’t let himself stop and admire every time he’d wanted to.

Potter groaned into Draco’s mouth, lips and tongue moving against his and Draco began to feel dizzy from all of it: the smell of Potter's hair, how close he was, the confusing sensations of cold and hot fluttering through him, the shock of actually getting something he wanted, after all this time.

Long, blurry minutes passed as they kissed before Potter finally pulled away. He rested his forehead against Draco’s. His glasses were askew again, his eyes bottle-green and shining.

“Anything else I need to make clear?” Potter asked roughly.

Draco smile felt both shaky and splendid at once. “Probably a lot of things," he said, "but this is good enough, for now.”

*

_**It was only after intensive study of Potter’s arse that Draco came to the irrefutable conclusion that he was completely and fantastically gay.** _

*

Potter laid back, replete. He fumbled for his wand on Draco’s side table and cast a quick cleaning charm that left Draco’s skin tingling, sweat still barely drying as he got his breath back.

Draco scooted into his preferred little niche against Potter’s body, pressed up flush to his side. He threw one leg over Potter's hips. Potter rested his cheek against Draco's jaw.

Potter smiled. “That was _much_ better.”

“Mmm.” Draco let his fingers dance over the flat of Potter’s stomach, circling his belly button. “Yes, it was.”

Their first two times hadn’t gone exactly as planned. The first time, Potter had been unable to hold back once he'd got inside Draco, which had been a little painful, to be honest. The second time was Draco’s turn and he’d quickly figured out why it had been so difficult for Potter not to go as deep as possible as fast as he could. Draco had also finished more quickly than he’d anticipated, which was a pro/con in that case.

However, they _had_ become excellent study partners.

This last time had been much slower, and they’d used so much lubricant that Draco was fairly certain he’d end up having to toss his sheets. But it was completely worth for the way Potter had moved in him so carefully, hitting a spot that made Draco’s entire body light up and kissing him messily as he’d finished.

“I like seeing you come undone like that,” Potter said in a sleepy voice, his hands stroking Draco’s hair as if he were a cat. It was incredibly soothing. “You’re usually so stuffy.”

“I’m proper,” Draco corrected through a yawn. His whole body was deliciously sore. “Just because you don’t give a toss about how you appear to others…”

“You seemed to like the way I look a few minutes ago,” Potter said, amused.

“I mean in public.”

“We could do it in public,” Potter offered with a wicked smile.

Draco snickered. “I have no doubt you would do that, too.”

“Mmmhmm… If you wanted.” He gestured to Draco’s table. “Hand me one of those.”

Draco frowned at having to move but obligingly reached over and handed Potter one of the little candies he now kept in a crystal bowl next to his bed. Potter opened the bright copper wrappings and slid the sticky wafer onto his tongue, sucking at it.

“Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?” Potter mumbled.

“No," Draco said, irritated. “You keep making these half-comments about it and then stop talking. I always think it’s out of order or something.”

“It’s so pale,” Potter said, sugar on his breath. “Almost white. Every time I see your hair I want to run my hands through it.”

“Every time I see yours, I want to brush it for you,” Draco retorted but arched into Potter’s hands anyway as they stroked their way down his back.

“I like it,” Potter said firmly. “Your hair, I mean. In case I was being too vague. Wouldn’t want that, right?”

Draco smirked. “Communication is important,” he agreed.

Potter shifted and Draco looked down, raising his eyebrows at thenew circumstances arising. "Really?”

Potter blushed fetchingly. “I can if you can.”

“Is it my turn?” Draco asked.

“After watching you a few minutes ago during mine, I’m _completely_ good with that,” Potter assured him.

Draco rolled onto Potter and kissed him, tasting candy on Potter's tongue. He smiled to himself, as Potter deepened the kiss, at just how sweet it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely.


End file.
